


eventually the birds must land

by trobedrights



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Inspired by Richard Siken, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, adhd mac kinda implied, extremely mac-centric, jesus christ what a gayass tag, religious trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 03:54:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29753676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trobedrights/pseuds/trobedrights
Summary: Mac has never been sure what to do with his hands.
Relationships: Mac McDonald/Dennis Reynolds
Comments: 2
Kudos: 32





	eventually the birds must land

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by unfinished duet by richard siken

Mac has never been sure what to do with his hands. They feel like they’re going to fly away from him any minute if he doesn’t keep them occupied.

Maybe that’s the reason he does so much for Dennis. Cooks, dyes his hair, massages his pecs, all that. To keep his hands busy.

Yeah, that’s one of the reasons, at least.

They used to be so close. It was so much easier then. He’d sling an arm around Dennis or give him a high five, and that would be that, no need to fiddle with anything or force his thoughts to stay focused.

Violence helped, too, which sounds kind of bad, but it did. Your fists never feel more alive than when you’re landing a punch square in the middle of some jackass’s face, and you don’t have to awkwardly clench and unclench your hands when you’re right in the middle of the action, taking it out on someone who’s barely even wronged you.

The feeling of blood on his hands was nice, but it doesn’t give him quite the same thrill anymore. He’s old, or tired, or both.

Karate moves are a good thing to do with your hands, whether you’re trying to impress your friends so that they don’t leave you for a better version of you or you’re getting way too excited about a toy robot at the age of thirty-three. It takes off some of the steam, and it doesn’t matter who thinks it’s weird, because maybe it helps calm you down a little.

Mac needed the full use of his hands when his father came home drunk and his mother couldn’t give a shit, but he knew none of that meant anything, despite the bruises. They loved him, they had to- they were his parents.

There was a lot to do with his hands when he was little, honestly. Throw rocks at trains with your best friend, watch them go by. Ride bicycles, your hands gripping the handlebars. Charlie was small enough back then that he’d ride on the front of Mac’s bicycle sometimes, and they’d hurtle down the hill together at what felt like a hundred miles an hour.

Later, they’d use those same hands to light cigarettes behind the Dumpster. Dennis and even Dee joined them sometimes, getting high and pretending they didn’t have problems for a little while.

Mac knew from a young age that his hands were only meant to touch women. And he followed that advice, because that’s what God wanted, and Mac didn’t know what he himself wanted, but he could sure follow God pretty well.

It wasn’t fun, but he wasn’t sure it was supposed to be fun. It was like Dennis always said- bang the woman, never feel emotional attachment, move on. And that was easy enough.

Later, he finally, finally caved in and used his hands on men. And the first few times, it felt dirty and sinful.

But it felt good, and God didn’t make mistakes, Mac was sure of it. So maybe He had created Mac this way, and if so, there was nothing to worry about. So he came out for good.

It was nice. He pumped his fists in the air, yelling “Gay Rich Mac!”

Because that was what he was. Gay. Yeah, he was gay, and he was out.

And rich, holy shit was he rich!

The gang had a thing for choreographing dances, for some reason, and Mac had always enjoyed it as much as the rest of them. It was pretty fun to put on a performance, even at your high school reunion when everyone you used to know is staring at you and your friends like you’re the worst people they’ve ever seen.

Dancing didn’t really mean anything to him then, though. Not until his pride dance, or whatever you want to call it.

Mac had never been more sure what to do with his hands than he had been during that performance. Lift, jump, slide, hold.

His dad hadn’t even cared. But Mac was working on getting used to that. He stopped using hair gel, at least. 

When they’re playing Chardee Macdennis, Mac barely even thinks about what to do with his hands. He just _does_. And it never works anyway, and it makes him so damn angry even though it shouldn’t really matter. It's a game, for Christ's sake. Sometimes he thinks he should work on his anger issues. But sometimes he’s afraid that if he doesn’t let it all out he’ll be just like Dennis, and he used to want to be like him, but he’s not sure about that anymore. Dennis is pretty fucked up; he sees that now.

Mac uses his hands to type words on his phone, and he uses his mind to worry about those words. Worry and worry and worry. He doesn’t know why he can’t stop sending these longass texts to Dennis, or how Dennis is reading them so fast, but he does know that he wishes he would respond.

He could be okay with Dennis not loving him if he would just give him a clear answer. Sometimes he doesn’t get why Dennis keeps him around.

If Mac’s hands are birds, they can’t stay in the air forever. Birds don’t do that. Eventually they have to land.

And they land on Dennis, of course they do, it was always going to be him. They’re drunk one night, and one thing escalates to another, and it finally happens.

The part that surprises Mac is that they actually have a conversation about it in the morning. 

It’s a Tuesday movie night, and Dennis’s head is on Mac’s lap. His fingers thread through his hair absentmindedly, listening to Dennis talk about...who knows. Mac has never been great at paying attention.

Dennis reaches up, because really, he’s never quite known what to do with himself either. Mac takes his hand and holds it in his own. They have each other, at least.

Mac used to press his hands together and pray for forgiveness. He doesn’t do that much anymore.

Maybe things are okay.


End file.
